A Woman Like That
by blue.rose.spobette
Summary: Spoby AU, featuring Haleb. Tanna and Taleb bromance. After one brief, steamy night in a bar one summer, Toby cannot forget the brown-eyed girl that made him question everything about his life. But when they meet once again, he comes to understand the true meaning of "the one that got away."
1. Prologue

_**A/N:** A new AU, multi-chapter story that I've been kind of mapping out for the past couple of weeks. I'm sorry to start something new when I have so many other pieces left unfinished, but this has been eating away at me like the worst (best?) sort of inspiration often does. The prologue does not reveal the crux of the story yet, but I'm sure you can gather what it shall entail by the title and the song lyrics attached._

_Rated M for mature content including but not limited to: swearing, sexual encounters, and suggestive innuendos. (In-YOUR-endo, tehe)_

_The characters will be more brash and raw than you are accustomed to seeing from me. Don't say I didn't warn you._

_All right! Onward!_

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><p><em>I'll play along with this charade<em>  
><em> That doesn't seem to be a reason to change<em>  
><em> You know I feel so dirty when they start talking cute<em>  
><em> I wanna tell her that I love but the point is probably moot<em>  
><em> 'Cause she's watching him with those eyes<em>  
><em> And she's lovin' him with that body, I just know it<em>  
><em> And he's holding her in his arms late, late at night<em>

_ You know I wish that I had (a certain person's) girl_  
><em> I wish that I had (a certain person's) girl<em>  
><em> Where can I find a woman like that?<em>

**_"Jessie's Girl" - Rick Springfield_**

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><p><span><strong>A WOMAN LIKE THAT<strong>

_**PROLOGUE**_

_Philadelphia, Summer 2013_

"This place blows," Hanna groaned for the fourth time that evening, her head slumped dejectedly on one hand. She absentmindedly used the tiny black straw in her Sex on the Beach to stab at the ice cubes with the other. "I told you we should have gone to Blazers."

Toby sighed, taking a sip of his Budweiser and surveying the bar once more. He could not deny that Hanna was right – the atmosphere was rather bleak, and the most exciting thing that had happened was when an underage college kid was asked to leave for toting a fake ID. The music consisted of a solitary iPod hooked into the speaker system, crooning repetitive country tunes about gun-toting cowboys drinking whiskey, riding horses, and pining for an unrequited love.

"It's not so bad," he insisted weakly. Hanna shot him an impatient glare. "Okay, it sucks. But you were the one who wanted to branch out. You said, and I quote, 'we need to find somewhere with fresh meat.' End quote."

"Don't try to blame this on me!" she said incredulously, flinging her blond hair over one shoulder. "You've been bitching about how predictable Blazers is for the past month."

"Well, when you spend every Saturday in the same bar, things do get a little stale."

She sighed melodramatically, finishing the last sip of her drink with a loud slurp. "I'm not even buzzed. What did they make this with, water?"

He ignored her, determined to salvage the evening. "How about a game of Describe the Bar Patrons?"

"Fine. I'll go first." She folded her arms diligently on the table, glancing around the room for a suitable specimen. "That guy – over there. The one in the suit who has been nursing that Scotch for so long he should have gone to medical school."

Toby followed her gaze to the far side of the bar, where a thirty-something business tycoon sat in solitude, sipping periodically at his drink and flipping through the electronic pages of his tablet.

"He's the CEO of a big company. Probably something like Apple. Married for a few years to the only woman who would have him. Always away on business, leaving the poor sap to take care of three kids all by herself. Wife demanded a divorce when she realized he could only get it up for his iPhone. She packed up the kids and didn't look back, and he hasn't even tried to contact them since. Now he's a workaholic who spends his nights crying to his hookers and trying to convince himself that he has no regrets."

Toby offered her a golf clap of quiet approval. "Dark. I like it."

"Your turn," she chirped, greedily sipping from the refill the bartender had just set in front of her.

He scanned the crowd – or lack thereof – trying to pick out a candidate of his liking. His eyes landed on a tall, willowy brunette in a silk blouse and pencil skirt, who was chatting amicably with the tiny, mousy girl across from her.

"Overachiever," he deduced, taking another swig of his beer. "Constantly trying to live up to Mommy and Daddy's expectations. Never had a lot of friends or a serious relationship because she always had her nose in a book. Masks her loneliness by taking on extra projects in school and at work. Has spent her entire life being told that other people just slow you down, and being independently successful is the only way to achieve true happiness. Has only recently begun to wonder whether she really wants to stay in the family business, because her biological clock is ticking and she's – "

She turned just then, glancing over her shoulder towards the bar. Her chocolate eyes met his for but a moment, but in that brief instant, everything else he had been about to say suddenly escaped him.

"…Gorgeous…"

Hanna coughed into her drink. Once she recovered enough from the hacking, she slugged him in the shoulder with her tiny fist. "Oh, no. Don't even. Tonight is _my _night to bring someone back to the apartment. You got last week, _and_ the week before. I've had enough of sleeping over at Emily's and listening to her go on and on about her wedding plans. I've tied more ribbon doilies than I can fucking count, Toby."

His feisty blond roommate was right, of course. They had developed a system long ago that granted equal rights to both parties when it came to bringing weekend conquests home. He remembered vividly how she had laid down this ground rule during her interview for the spare bedroom, and it had been one of the defining qualities that had prompted him to call her back.

Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that his ideal living companion would be female, but Hanna had quickly grown to be his best friend in a substantially short amount of time. She was stubborn and determined, much like he was, but made no excuses for her wild side. They were two peas in a pod, really, and he couldn't imagine living with anyone else.

But God _damn_ it, if that rule wasn't a buzz kill right about now.

And just like that, the brunette's gaze darted away once more, back to her friend. He felt the universe shift back into alignment, and no sooner had he drifted back to the conversation than Hanna was snapping two perfectly manicured fingernails in front of his face.

"Are you hearing me?" she demanded.

"Yeah, yeah, I hear you," he grumbled, slinking backwards dejectedly in his chair.

"Don't," she hissed. "Don't you give me those baby blue puppy dog eyes, Cavanaugh. I'm not giving in."

This warning, of course, only meant that she was already caving. He turned to face her, letting his bottom lip droop into a dramatic pout.

She growled in annoyance, squeezing her eyes shut tightly as she took a generous gulp of her drink. "I can't see you. It won't work."

He laughed good-naturedly. "All right, all right, you win."

"Good," she declared, buffing her fingernails on her leather jacket. "Because Mama has needs to fulfill tonight."

Toby could not help but grimace at the vivid imagery that followed. She was like his sister, and the thought of her in any sexual capacity was horrendously disturbing. "I don't want to know."

"Not like there's a lot to choose from," she sighed. "My options are pretty much between the drunk cowboy and the guy crying into his chili fries. Face it – we're probably both going home alone tonight."

He could not help the cheeky smirk that tugged at his lips as he raised the bottle to his mouth once more. "You could always try your luck with your divorced CEO."

"No thanks. If I wanted VD I'd just go rub my lady parts on the toilet seat."

He practically spit out his beer at this, his body quaking in fits of laughter. The beer was finally doing its job. "Hanna!"

"I know, I know. I'm not supposed to talk about my lady business," she said, sarcasm bleeding through her tone.

"That's right," he agreed. "You have Barbie doll parts and that's it."

"If you say so."

The two were doubled over in hysterics, too distracted by their mirth to notice the presence that had come up alongside them.

"Another white wine, please."

He turned instinctively at the sound of the new voice, and felt his heart come to an unceremonious halt behind his ribcage. The brunette had come up to the bar, and was now standing a mere two feet from him. She was even more attractive up close, he realized. She had the face of an old-fashioned movie starlet, one that transcended the confines of time. The planes that carved out her features were defined and symmetrical, punctuated by a pair of luscious, full lips.

He didn't even realize he was staring until Hanna jabbed him in the side.

"Ow!" he cried instinctively.

This caught her attention. She turned to face him again, and he was sure his complexion had gone scarlet under her scrutinizing stare.

"Everything all right?" she asked uncertainly, an amused smile dancing onto her mouth. There was a bit of a rasp to her voice, and he was reminded instantly of the dulcet, velvety tones of iconic females from old black and white films.

"Fine," he said hastily, offering what he hoped was a flirtatious smile. "You?"

Hanna snorted behind her hand.

The woman laughed a bit, as though sympathetically amused by his lack of game. "I'm good."

"What my friend means to say," Hanna cut in, leaning across Toby to address the newcomer properly, "is that he'd like to buy you a drink."

"Is that so?" the brunette asked coquettishly.

He shot Hanna a warning glare, after which she merely rolled her eyes and hid her sadistic grin behind her hand once more.

"Yeah, of course," he said smoothly, though Hanna hadn't exactly left him with another option.

Just when he thought she couldn't get more beautiful, the woman smiled, and what little composure he had left was immediately siphoned from his body.

"All right."

"Great!" Hanna declared, a little too much glee in her voice. She swiped her cocktail from the bar and made to stand. "I'm going to go…uh…somewhere else."

He snapped his gaze to her, eyes narrowed in warning. She jerked her head pointedly in the direction of the brunette, as if to say, 'I got you in, now don't fuck it up.' And with that, she was gone.

Well. That was that.

He turned back to the girl, who had now taken a seat at the bar beside him. "So, uh," he began pathetically, "are you from around here?"

She seemed to be trying to politely hide her amusement at his transparently bad flirtation. "Kind of."

What kind of an answer was that?

"You?" she returned.

He offered a brief nod. "Yeah. My roommate, Hanna – the girl that was just over here – she and I live a few blocks away."

She delicately crossed her legs and she took a sip of wine, and the way the skirt rode up her thigh made his stomach do an awkward flip-flop in his abdomen.

"A female roommate, huh?" she asked suggestively.

"No, no, no, it's not like that," he insisted, shaking his head so fervently that his vision swam a bit as a result. "She's just my friend."

"You guys seem to have a lot of fun together."

"We do," he agreed with a casual shrug. "We both like to keep things interesting."

She hummed thoughtfully, swirling her drink around in its flute. "Interesting like trying foreign beers, or interesting like playing wingman for each other and preying on innocent, unsuspecting singles at the bar?"

He blanched at her inquiry, and suddenly his vocal chords felt akin to Jell-O.

Her tight smile did not suffice to hold in her laughter, and soon she was bursting at the seams. "I'm just messing with you. It's okay. I'm anything _but_ innocent and unsuspecting."

A warm tingling sensation ran through his nerve endings that had nothing to do with the alcohol coursing through his veins.

"So," she began again, as though nothing had happened. "What do you do for a living?"

He cleared his throat, trying to make use of his voice once more. "I, uh, have an apprenticeship at an architectural design studio."

She nodded, seemingly impressed by this. "Nice. What made you decide on architecture?"

The question caught him off-guard. Nobody had ever really asked him that before, much less any number of the women he had picked up in recent months. It left him with such a sensation of whiplash that he had to remind himself that she was expecting a response.

"I like building things," he said candidly. "I like mapping out a design and bringing it to life."

She smiled again, and her dark eyes appeared to sparkle in the low light of the bar. Perching her chin in one hand, she gazed at him in fascination.

"Having that sort of passion is beautiful," she murmured. "I wish I had that much inspiration."

It was as though a warm hand had encircled his heart; simple though her words were, they had succeeded in tapping into his soul in a way he was not accustomed to.

"What about you?" he asked quickly, before she could peel any more of his layers away.

Her smiled faltered in slight as she straightened her posture once more. "I'm interning at my father's law firm right now, but I'm still kind of on the fence about where I want to go from here."

He felt a sudden pang of guilt about choosing her for his and Hanna's stupid game earlier. What was even worse was that he had been partially right.

"Family business is tricky," he murmured. "Because it's harder to do what makes _you_ happy when you're worried about what makes your _parents _happy."

"Tell me about it," she said darkly. A whisper of melancholy flitted across her face briefly, and was gone as soon as it had arrived.

"But you're the one who has to live with your decisions," he added. "Not them."

She turned back to face him, a quiet air of anticipation ruminating in the air between them.

"You should do what makes you happy," he continued. "That's the most important gift you can give yourself."

There was a moment of silence in which she cocked her head at him thoughtfully, her mocha eyes darting analytically between his own cobalt ones. She seemed to be registering his words, the wheels turning in recognition. Though he had regretted the cliché words of wisdom almost as soon as he had said them, she seemed to be inexplicably moved by his advice.

He had stripped naked more times than he could count, with more women than he was proud to admit. But for whatever reason, the vulnerability that pierced through him now was more revealing than any degree of literal nudity.

He felt suddenly self-conscious, practically choking on the ever-thickening air of implication that swirled around them.

"I'll, uh, be back," he sputtered, sliding off his bar stool and heading toward the bathrooms in the back hall. With every step he could feel his extremities burning in embarrassment, and for the life of him he could not figure out why. Perhaps it had been the way she saw a piece of him that often lay untapped. Perhaps it was how she had gazed at him with unprecedented affection when he had peered right past her façade and into her soul. Maybe it was just the alcohol. Maybe it was all three.

The further he got away from her, the more of his bearings returned, and he realized that the feelings of intoxication had more to do with her than the beer.

He slumped against the wall in the dark, trying to even out his breathing and regain his composure. He could do better than this. He could pick women up in his sleep. So why was talking to this one so damn hard? Why had both of them insisted on poking at each other's protective barriers when they clearly preferred leaving the gates untouched?

A shadow danced across the wall as a figure passed, and soon she was appearing around the corner. He felt his pulse pick up once more as he peeled himself off the wall, his tongue tied in useless knots.

"Sorry, I just, uh, I just needed to – "

"Don't talk," she said thickly, and before he realized what was happening, she had grabbed his face in her hands and kissed him full on the mouth.

The feelings of inebriation returned tenfold, like a tsunami taking out the levy. He pulled at her waist to bring her closer, delighting in the residual taste of lip-gloss lingering on her lips.

She moaned quietly, which only dragged him further into the undertow. Every part of him felt on fire at her touch, and that included the man downstairs. He could feel his desire building with every heady breath, every exploratory hand, every bump and grind of her figure against his.

He flipped her around so that he had her pressed against the wall, to which she sighed in ecstasy. His hands dove into her curly locks, angling her face more properly to his as he hungrily explored her mouth with his own. Her hands had gone into full wandering mode, sliding up the back of his shirt and gripping at his shoulder blades in desperation. He could feel her heart pounding beneath her left breast, matching the beat of his own and creating a beautiful synchronized cadence.

Of all the girls he had ever been with, he had never wanted someone more. She was beautiful, and refined, and had depths that he had only begun to navigate. She was more than just an attractive woman he had met at the bar. She had hopes, and dreams, and boundless layers to the soul she kept so delicately guarded. He could see it in the way she had been with him earlier. The way she had reacted to his attempt to experimentally chip away at the wall he had predicted was there.

And it was because of that chivalrous realization that he pulled back, somewhat regrettably, to survey her once more. Her eyes drifted open, still heavily lidded with an intoxication that had nothing to do with the beverages she had consumed, her lips parted in withdrawal.

And as much as he wanted to, he couldn't.

"I'm sorry," he breathed, using one hand to cup her cheek. "You're amazing, and beautiful, and I want to so bad – but I can't."

She chuckled a bit, and he could hear the nerves seeping back into her voice. "Yeah…yeah, you're right." She slowly slid out from her position between him and the wall, straightening her skirt and glancing away self-consciously. There was an immediate chill that resonated through his frame, and he realized just how warm he had been in her presence. "It's probably for the best," she murmured. "I told myself I wouldn't do this tonight."

He was at a loss for words. There was so much more that he wanted to say, but everything sage and comforting was suddenly escaping him.

"I'd like to see you again," he said quietly, before he realized what he was saying.

She glanced at him over her shoulder, a wry smile playing at her swollen lips. "I come here once a month," she whispered. "Come back and find me."

He felt that smile in the very tips of his toes, mesmerized as she began to saunter away.

"Wait," he called. "What's your name?"

His words merely echoed back to him in the gaping solitude. It took him a moment to gather his composure once more, bounding down the hall and back into the bar. He nearly collided with Hanna as he rounded the corner.

"Jesus! What's the rush, Forrest?" she cried.

His eyes roved the room, gently taking her by the shoulders and pulling her aside so he could get a clear view. But the woman was nowhere to be seen. It was as though she had vanished amongst the other patrons, leaving in her wake a dull pain in his side, her seraphic presence utterly ripped from the atmosphere around him.

"Toby," Hanna said worriedly. "Are you okay?"

He gulped hard on the knot in his throat, wondering how she could have disappeared so quickly. Sobriety was rapidly kicking his system back into full alert, and in its unwelcome return brought a headache and a disappointing realization.

"She's gone."


	2. Chapter 1

_**A/N:** Thank you all so much for the amazing feedback on the prologue! I'm glad you guys are enjoying the premise thus far._

_I encourage you to review - specific reviews, especially, are the best kind of inspiration, and give me a good indication of where my strengths and weaknesses lie._

_If you read it, I humbly request that you leave a review. Please please PLEASE._

_Again, I warn you that the characters are much more raw and may, at times, be a bit darker and morally ambiguous than y'all are perhaps accustomed to. _

_Enjoy!_

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><p><span><strong>CHAPTER 1<strong>

_Philadelphia, January 2014_

The music rumbled softly in throughout his frame, the subwoofers in the bar projecting the low bass tones straight through his ribcage. He sat on a stool – the same stool that he had continued to come back to, after all these months – watching the door with such anxiety that his palms had grown slick with the tack of his sweat, his knee bouncing in some self-soothing rhythm that had nothing to do with the song that played.

"She's not coming, Toby," Hanna whispered, hovering behind him like the devil on his shoulder. "She's never coming back."

"No," he said insistently. "She will."

Hanna continued to sip distractedly at her cocktail as a crowd of men began to flock to her side, tugging greedily at every available inch of clothing within the grasp of their needy hands. She seemed unperturbed by her sudden mob, intent on drilling the much-needed message into Toby's stubborn cranium.

"It's been months, Toby," she said impatiently. "Be a man and move on."

A strange buzzing sound reverberated throughout the room. He glanced around in confusion, trying to identify the source of the unwelcome sound. None of the other patrons seemed fazed by it in the slightest, and he wondered if he had finally cracked. Hanna was sitting cross-legged on top of the counter, filing her fingernails in boredom as the men around her engaged in a vicious rock-paper-scissors duel for her affections.

The bar had begun to swim in and out of focus, the posters and plaster melting from the skeleton of the walls, forming indiscernible puddles of every color on the wooden panels of the floor. The building had transformed entirely, and he now found himself mysteriously standing in the deserted bathroom hallway once more, alone in the darkness of the passage way. Everything around him had gone utterly still – the music had ceased to play, and what had only moments ago been a raucous drone of voices was suddenly muted. Her shadow appeared, projected on the wall across from him, and he felt his heart skip a beat. She had finally come back.

"Toby."

The voice seemed to resonate through his entire frame, the hallway shaking as if it stood on a delicate fault line. The shadow was fading on the opposite wall – she was leaving again – but he could not bring himself to follow her, his feet glued to the very spot in which they stood.

A gentle hand gripped at his shoulder, jostling him from his reverie.

It only took a split second to blink, but in that instant, he awoke abruptly.

It took him a moment to recognize his surroundings. The cream and copper patterned bedspread that was bunched in his sweaty fists. The framed print of an Olympic gold medal swimmer cutting through water so vibrant it looked like liquid glass. The vase of Gerber daisies perched on the birch nightstand to his left.

The raven-haired woman sitting delicately on the edge of the bed, withdrawing her hand from his shoulder.

"Your phone has been vibrating, but you wouldn't wake up," she said quietly. "I didn't know if you had somewhere you needed to be."

He blinked a few times to clear the haze from his vision, bringing his focus back to Emily's concerned face.

"What time is it?" he mumbled sleepily.

"Half past eleven," said Emily. "You've been a total corpse for the past ten hours or so."

He hadn't meant to sleep as long as he did, but he supposed he must have needed it. He had, after all, been – how did people word it? – burning the candle at both ends at work. He felt as though he spent more time at the office than in his own apartment as of late, but the opportunities and projects that he had been offered were far too good to pass up.

He pulled himself into a sitting position, rubbing his palms across his face to break the numbness in his cheeks. Emily was already heading back towards the door to give him his privacy, glancing back only when she stood on the threshold.

"Would you like something for breakfast? Paige is making waffles."

The moment she mentioned it, the sudden thick aroma of maple syrup wafted into his nostrils. He was tempted to accept her offer, but she had already been gracious enough to let him stay overnight. He did not want to wear out his welcome, despite the fact that she and Paige insisted time and time again that they adored the company on the weekends.

"I have some stuff I need to get done today," he said, using all the effort he could muster to turn his mouth upwards into a polite smile. "Thank you, though, Em."

She returned the gesture, tapping her fingers in a brief beat on the door.

"You're welcome, Tobes. Let me know if you need anything."

And with that, she closed the guest room off for him once more, allowing him to finish waking up in solitude.

He had not known Emily Fields and Paige McCullers for long, but they had taken him in like a part of the family almost instantaneously. Emily had been Hanna's best friend growing up, and upon hearing that Toby was a newly significant part of Hanna's life, Emily had opened her heart to him immediately. They were irrefutably kind people, and he felt an immense debt of gratitude towards them for being so welcoming. But part of him still felt as though he was the asshole that took their generosity for granted, and he hated giving that impression to the people he cared for. Emily and Paige deserved much more than that.

He said his goodbyes, appreciatively accepting Emily's warm embrace and Paige's chaste kiss on the cheek as he departed. The walk home was brief, for they only lived a few short blocks from his and Hanna's place.

He was just entering his apartment, tossing his coat over the armchair and thumbing through the mail when he caught the figure in his peripheral vision. Puzzled, he slowly turned to face the kitchen. Barely visible above the bar counter was a tuft of unkempt blond hair. A disembodied voice rapidly began spewing expletives in what it probably assumed was a quiet monologue.

"Hello?" he asked uncertainly, taking cautious steps toward the mysterious intruder. He thumbed the Swiss army knife in his back pocket, just in case.

A door creaked behind him, and he whirled around to see Hanna, looking shocked and disheveled in a fluffy pink bathrobe.

"Toby!" she declared stupidly, pulling the robe more tightly around herself. "What are you doing home already?"

"It's noon," he said matter-of-factly, his brow creasing in confusion. He looked back to the bar, where the blond man had stood up behind the counter, eyes wide with embarrassment. He was nude from at least the waist up, his hands clutched in the form of a protective shield around his midsection.

"Oh, God," Toby groaned as the pieces rapidly fell into place. He pressed a hand over his eyes to block out the imagery, turning expectantly toward the area he had last seen Hanna. "_Really_?"

"I didn't realize it was so late," she breathed apologetically. He chanced a peek between his fingers to address her. Her face was scarlet with humiliation. "Toby, this is, uh…This is…um…"

"Sean," the blond man offered in an awkward mumble, instinctively freeing up one hand from his groin in order to shake. Toby immediately clamped his fingers shut once more, his head swinging feverishly back and forth.

"No, no, let's keep all body parts right where they are."

He heard the man whimper a bit in agreement.

Hanna cleared her throat in an effort to shatter the awkward silence that had settled. "Sean…You should probably go."

Toby heard the quick rustling of clothes being sheepishly put back into place, and when he heard the door to the apartment open, figured it was safe enough to finally utilize his eyes once more.

A newly dressed Sean was standing in the doorway, looking uncertain as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Can I call you?"

Hanna smiled a bit – a smile that Toby had learned over time was one hundred per cent fake. "Sure."

A nervous grin spread across Sean's face as he leaned in for a kiss. Hanna turned her head at the last minute, giving him the cheek.

"All right, then," she chirped, hastily leading him out the door before he could realize just how far her rejection reached. "You have yourself a great day."

His brow furrowed in confusion, and Toby had the feeling that he had perfected the expression sometime in high school, between football practice and attempting to understand basic algebra. "Wait – "

Before he could finish, Hanna had already slammed the door unceremoniously in his face. She whipped around to regard Toby, her arms outstretched across the door behind her, as though using her body to shield Sean from re-entering.

"Thank God you showed up when you did," she hissed. "I thought he would never leave."

Toby rolled his eyes playfully, plopping down onto the couch to continue sorting through the post.

"One to ten?"

"A three at most."

"Worse than the last one?"

"He made the last one look like Ron Jeremy."

"Sixty-second man or clinger?"

"Both," she declared, flopping into the armchair as though the tryst had taken an immense amount of the wrong kind of effort. "The guy has mommy issues up the wazoo, which, by the way, is probably the most disturbing topic of conversation to have right after sex."

Toby chuckled quietly to himself, which earned him a swift kick in the knee.

"Shut up. I didn't realize it would be that bad. He was cute before I got him home."

"Everyone is until the liquor wears off," Toby offered cheekily. She pierced him with a deadpan glare.

"Not that you would know anymore," she huffed. "You haven't even tried since White Wine Woman."

The comment stung in a way that it probably shouldn't have, and he found himself fresh out of witty retorts. He turned his concentration back to the mail he had already sifted through, pretending to be intensely focused on the task at hand.

Hanna saw through the façade, though. She always did. She leaned forward, crossing her arms over her knees and craning her neck to get a better look at his face.

"It sucks that you haven't seen her since that night," she said candidly. "But it's just one girl, Toby. Maybe it's time to get back in the paddle."

He crinkled his brow in momentary confusion, foregoing the sensation of déjà vu to translate what she was trying to say.

"Saddle," he corrected. "Back in the _saddle_."

She waved an impatient hand in front of her face. "Whatever. You know what I meant."

He did, unfortunately. He hadn't quite had it in him to play the game the same way he used to. None of the potential conquests seemed even remotely interesting compared with the brunette from a few months prior. It wasn't as though he hadn't tried. Maybe not as hard as he could have, but it wasn't like he _enjoyed _going home alone every weekend.

It was foolish, really. To be so hung up on someone he had only known for a half an hour. But then again, nobody had ever gotten imbedded so far under his skin in such a short amount of time, either.

When he didn't reply after a few gruelingly tense moments, Hanna took it upon herself to save him and change the subject.

"So, tell me more about Caleb," she twittered, her eyebrows flickering devilishly as she perched her chin eagerly in her hands. "College roommate, huh?"

Toby rolled his eyes. "Please don't make me regret telling him he could stay here. I haven't seen him in almost a year. The last thing I need is your feminine wiles chasing him away."

She clasped her hands against her chest, gasping in mock indignation. "I would _never_!"

"Off limits, Hanna," he said, repeating the stern command he had been chanting like a broken record for the past several days. It did not come out with as much conviction as he intended, however, as an amused smile betrayed his tone.

"Fine," she sighed melodramatically, as though he had shattered all of her hopes and dreams. "When is he supposed to get here, anyway?"

"Soon. He said around one o'clock."

Hanna squealed a bit, clutching at her bed head in a panic. "I'll never be ready in time!" She did not wait for him to argue with her; she was already on her feet and lunging toward the bathroom.

He chose to busy himself with mindless cleaning tasks until the hour expired. Though the apartment was in terrific form already – probably the cleanest it had been in months, if not _ever_ – he wanted to make Caleb's stay as comfortable as possible. The computer wizard had, after all, been a bit of a neat freak during their years in the dormitory. And Toby was the sort of person who understood how imperative it was for people to feel at home.

He was looking forward to Caleb's visit. Though he loved Hanna dearly, and by extension Emily and Paige, it felt like ages since he had had an actual conversation with another guy. He had fond memories of beer pong in the frat houses, and playing video games until the sun came up. Engaging in the poor college kid's version of poker in the laundry room, doling out cigarettes, meal plan vouchers, and contraband liquor as antes while waiting for the spin cycle to finish its rounds. And even as irritating as it had seemed back then, he somehow even missed Caleb's disruptive snoring, serving as the most brutal of distractions whether Toby was trying to sleep or pulling an all-nighter to get the final draft of an essay out.

He loved Hanna dearly – he did. But he could not deny that the testosterone in him missed the ability to belch as loud as he wanted, talk as crassly as the moment warranted, or even lounge around stewing in his own man filth without complaint. There were certain things that were only acceptable in another man's company – things that were considered impolite and inconsiderate to subject a girl to, no matter how laid back she may be.

And even though Hanna would be sharing the apartment with them for the week that Caleb was in town, he knew that some degree of his carefree college days would be making a glorified return – and he could not deny that he had been craving a bit of a break from the real world as of late.

As he finished straightening the coffee table, Hanna continued to bustle around frantically, making no qualms about the fact that she had just unearthed her bra from the couch cushions he had been sitting on only minutes ago.

"You really didn't waste any time last night, did you?" he deadpanned.

This comment earned him a perfectly manicured middle finger.

He had just settled back down to relax, flipping open to the bookmark in his novel, when Hanna finally emerged from her room, admiring her appearance in the hallway mirror. For someone who had promised not to seduce his college roommate, her plunging neckline and revealing miniskirt sure contradicted her vow.

"That's your favorite booty call outfit," he said wearily, lowering his book to pierce her with an accusatory glare. "Hanna, c'mon, no funny business."

She peered at him from over her shoulder, a wicked smirk tugging at her glossy lips.

"I feel like I should be surprised that you know what my favorite outfit is, but somehow, I'm not. You're like the gay best friend who isn't gay, you know that, right?"

He rolled his eyes. It wasn't the first comment like this that she had made, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. Apparently his attention to detail was a quality that was strictly reserved for the more metrosexual end of the XY spectrum, and she never seemed to hesitate to jump at the opportunity to crack a joke about it at his expense.

"You can call me whatever you want, as long as you change."

She scoffed at his reflection in the mirror, throwing her hands on her hips in true tantrum style.

"I want to make a good impression!"

"Yeah, a good impression on his _lap_," he muttered sarcastically.

She cocked one carefully plucked eyebrow at him through the glass, and he knew immediately that he had said something wrong.

"This happens to be how I feel most confident. It's my body, and I can wear whatever I want. Just because your species can't control its wild libido doesn't mean I should censor myself. What do you expect me to do? Should I cover every inch of my skin? Should I maybe wear a snowsuit? A skirt that comes down to my ankles so I'm not tempting Caleb with my smooth, freshly shaven legs? You must not have any faith in him if you think he can't control himself around a woman in her early twenties who dresses like every _other _woman in her twenties he has probably _ever met_."

Her lengthy diatribe was concluded with an almighty inhale, as though she hadn't breathed through the entire rant. He could not deny that he was a bit taken aback by her intellectually formulated defense of the female population, and as a result, he actually felt a little guilty for insinuating anything more.

Her gaze continued to challenge Toby through the mirror, and as much as he didn't want to be the first to blink, he heaved a weary sigh in what he knew would be his imminent defeat.

She had a point, after all.

"Fine," he grumbled. "Just don't – like – _throw_ yourself at him, okay?"

She looked herself over in the mirror once more, seemingly satisfied with this compromise. "Honey, I don't _need _to throw myself at anyone. _They_ throw themselves at _me_."

And just like that she once again shattered the argument she had so strongly built only moments ago.

He could not help but chuckle fondly. Hanna certainly played the part of the egocentric blond ditz, but he knew better than to believe it. She was just as insecure as any other woman he had ever known – she just happened to have a halfway decent façade to hide behind in order to avoid it. He had never mentioned this to her, of course, and for the sake of her dignity, he never would.

The buzzer rang. Before Toby could even make it to his feet, Hanna had already dashed to the intercom at the door, clearing her throat and speaking in the best sultry voice she could muster.

"Who is it?"

"It's Caleb," came the scratchy reply from the outdated speaker. "Is Toby around?"

He didn't sound surprised in the slightest to be answered by a female voice. Perhaps Caleb had actually retained some of Toby's explanation about the living situation.

"Yes, he is," Hanna chirped. "Come on up."

She turned to Toby, a devilish grin on her face as she held down the buzz-in button. With a sigh of defeat, he realized that she was about to put on her best game face.

The door to the apartment opened swiftly, and in came Caleb with far more suitcases than Toby would have ever pictured the smaller boy needing. He looked exactly the same as he had in their college days, save for a slightly shorter haircut, a few extra age lines, and a sharp button-down shirt. He grinned when his eyes landed on Toby, and he unceremoniously abandoned his luggage in the doorway to embrace him in a masculine hug. Toby clapped a fist between Caleb's shoulder blades, laughing happily as they pulled apart.

"Look at you, all fancy," Toby mused, jokingly pinching Caleb's cheek. The younger swatted his hand away and rolled his eyes.

"Fuck off."

The two shared a laugh, and only then did Toby realize that Hanna still stood expectantly in the doorway, the nuances of insecurity quickly bleeding back into her features.

He was just about to introduce her when Caleb grasped Toby's shoulder, looking suddenly somber.

"Hey, man, so, I didn't get a chance to tell you on the phone – it was kind of last minute, and if you need me to go somewhere else, I totally understand – but my girlfriend got the week off, too, and she wanted to – "

"Toby," Hanna interrupted brashly, her eyes widening in shock as she gazed down the hall. She was at his side in an instant, clawing at his elbow to drag him away. "There's something I have to tell you. Right now."

"Hanna – "

"Right. Now."

She had almost gotten him into the hallway, away from the politely confused expression on Caleb's face, when a newcomer stepped into the doorway.

Tall. Willowy. Brunette. Eyes that had haunted his dreams for the past several months, lips whose memory often made him lie awake at night, trying to squelch the burning desire that resulted.

Her eyes met his, and the smile instantaneously melted from her face. Hanna let out a tiny whimper, her grip tightening on his arm and cutting into his flesh. He couldn't say he minded, though – her hold on him was probably the only thing keeping him upright.

He was dreaming again. He had to be.

"Toby," Caleb began eagerly, unfazed by the unspoken conversation that had begun to erupt between the other three people in the room. He approached the brunette, wrapping an affectionate arm around her waist.

The realization hit Toby like a tidal wave before Caleb could even finish.

"This is my girlfriend, Spencer."


	3. Chapter 2

_**A/N:** Hiya! Sorry for the delay!_

_First off, I want to thank you guys for the overwhelming response to this story. It's such an amazing feeling to know that you guys are interested in where this goes. _

_Second, I just want to remind all of you that it is 100% a Spoby/Haleb story. No matter what else may happen in the meantime. _

_I hope you like this chapter! Please review!_

* * *

><p><span><strong>CHAPTER 2<strong>

It was just his luck.

Just. His. Fucking. Luck.

Caleb had always been something of a ladies' man. All throughout college, he had been the one to score the phone number of any girl Toby showed even the most remote interest in. It was by no fault of Caleb's own, of course; in fact, he adhered to the bro code so vehemently that he often tried to spin the situation in Toby's favor, taking advantage of a girl's interest as an opportunity to act as his roommate's wingman. The effort typically fell miserably flat, as Toby was far less outgoing and often found himself tongue tied in the presence of estrogen. But Caleb had always had his back, nonetheless.

And here they were, years later, and nothing had changed. The one woman in years that had given him pause, and she was attached at the hip to his friend.

If the situation at hand was not bad enough in and of itself, Toby was also grappling with the paralyzing guilt that racked his insides, reminding him that he had very little, if any, reason to be resentful. One steamy make-out session in the darkened corners of a grungy pub should not have merited the amount of envy that churned in his stomach – but despite the fact that the rational part of his brain was well aware of this, he could not quell the invasive parasite that turned his eyes green with unparalleled jealousy.

To make matters even worse, Caleb had suggested they come to the very same bar in which he had met her in the first place. The conflicted feelings that came paired with that caused a dissonance so powerful that he felt disoriented with whiplash.

"Girlfriend," Hanna spat in disbelief, lounging back against the plush backing of the booth. "Now how the hell does that even happen?"

Her mindless chatter interrupted him from his reverie, pulling him back from his internal grudge match of self-deprecating disdain. And though the silent pits of his asphyxiating despair were something less than pleasant, the tether that Hanna insisted on tugging every time he zoned out was growing rather tight around his throat, making it feel as though he were pinned to a constant see-saw of self-pity.

He sighed wearily, eyes trained on Caleb and Spencer from a distance. They were leaning against the bar counter, laughing flirtatiously as they waited on their drinks.

It shouldn't have mattered. It shouldn't have been such a big deal. Toby hardly knew Spencer, after all. Hadn't even known her name until an hour ago. But still he could not mitigate that sharp feeling of betrayal, even despite the fact that he truthfully had no right to be upset.

Hanna followed his train of view, her eyes narrowed in morbid curiosity. "_Girlfriend_."

"Shut _up_, Hanna," he pleaded, massaging his temples. The idea still hadn't registered entirely, the whole thing likened to a horrific nightmare – but Hanna's redundant mantra of shock continued to poke at his vulnerable underbelly nonetheless, like chewing on a ripe canker sore.

"Who pissed in _your_ Cheerios?" she asked brashly. "We're both thinking it, I'm just the only one talking about it."

He did not reply, finding that he was unable to tear his eyes away from the car crash occurring in slow motion in front of him. None of it made sense. He was well aware of the old adage about it being a small world after all, but this was just insane. What extreme karmic debt had he incurred over the years to deserve such disorienting emotional whiplash?

Hanna leaned close, looking surreptitiously over her shoulder as though they were about to sneak up behind her. "Are we really going to let them – in all their disgusting couply glory – sleep at Chateau Tanna?"

Toby could not suppress the smirk that resulted from her affectionate mash-up of their names. No matter how irritated he was, he could always count on her to lift his spirits, even if the cheer _was_ as fleeting as one of their many weekend conquests.

The macabre comparison caused his smile to melt away with alarming brevity, bringing him back to the harsh reality at hand. He sighed, finally forcing himself to turn away from the depressing display taking place across the bar to regard Hanna properly. "What else am I supposed to do?" he challenged. "I already told Caleb he could stay. Weeks ago."

"Yeah – _single_ Caleb," she argued. "But it's not really fair for him to waltz in with the Toby Cavanaugh dream girl on his arm and expect that everything is hunky dory."

She downed the remainder of her cocktail, reaching over without hesitation to commandeer his untouched shot glass. Under any other circumstances, he probably would have grumbled something territorial. However, the alcohol sloshing around in his stomach was not jiving well with the uncomfortable pit that had set up camp there.

"She's not the Toby Cavanaugh dream girl," he protested weakly, only vaguely aware of the heat rising in his cheeks at the implication. "I barely even know her."

"And yet she's all you've been able to talk about for months." She slugged him in the arm in sympathetic camaraderie, her blue eyes scanning his expression for any dissent. "It may have only been one night – hell, more like half a night – but that doesn't change the fact that I've never seen you so – "

"They're back," he interrupted brashly, a minor balloon of relief inflating in his chest at the thought that he would not have to continue the conversation. No sooner had he thought it though than Spencer and Caleb slid, laughing about something or another, into the booth seat across from them, and he was left wondering which uncomfortable situation truly would have been the lesser of two very vindictive evils.

There was a moment in which Hanna and Toby simply watched the display with morbid curiosity until Hanna, God bless her and her unstoppable motor mouth, struck down the fourth wall.

"So, you guys having fun?" she chirped, as if they had all been best friends since the diaper days.

"Yeah, I love this place," Caleb fawned, gesturing around them at the crowd that had once been something to be desired. Toby chanced a glance at Spencer, who seemed to be purposefully avoiding eye contact.

"Hmm," Hanna hummed thoughtfully, Spencer's thinly veiled guilt creeping directly onto her radar. "Is this your first time here?"

Caleb nodded emphatically and sipped at his beer, seemingly unaware of the brazen tension that had settled. "Yeah. I haven't been on this side of town in years."

"Fascinating," Hanna mused darkly, her gaze traveling back to her fellow female. "How about you, Spencer?"

The brunette's eyes flickered upward, wide and worried, a silent plea stagnating on her parted lips.

However, Hanna was not the merciful type.

"You ever been to this bar before?"

The battle of dominance taking place was evident, even to Toby, who was not as well versed in feminine warfare as his ballsy blond friend. Mocha eyes had locked onto cobalt, a nonverbal counterchallenge to Hanna's cutthroat tactics obvious in the way Spencer squared her jaw indignantly.

"Yes, just once, a long time ago," she admitted at last, her casual manner almost believable – so much so that Toby had to stop himself for a second to assess whether he had imagined their whole short-lived tryst last summer. "I barely remember it."

Something resembling hurt echoed in the caverns of Toby's chest. A foolish, unnecessary reaction to what had been a perfectly reasonable statement.

Hanna had leaned over the table in feigned interest, fingers clasped diligently as though to make the presence of her claws well known. "What a coincidence," she mewed. "Toby and I used to come here. How funny to think we could have actually met before tonight."

He had had enough. He struck Hanna's ankle warningly with the side of his boot, to which the blond cried out in alarm, all stealth and snark foregone in the event of pain.

Luckily, this had been the only thing interesting enough to check Caleb, who had been peering around the room aimlessly during the entire exchange, back into the conversation.

"Are you okay?" he asked suddenly.

"Yeah," she reassured brightly, plastering a tight smile onto her face that only Toby could not be fooled by. "Just a pain in my ass, is all."

Toby shot her an impatient look, his urge to put forth a sarcastic response so strong that he could practically feel it bubbling beneath his skin. _Oh, aren't you so clever with your witty double-entendres._

She cocked an eyebrow, as though well aware of his withheld retort. _At least I'm not sitting around with my thumbs so far up my ass that I'm choking on my own man pain._

Caleb had already lost interest once more. He set his empty bottle down with a noisy 'clang,' grinning in Toby's direction. "I'm ready for another. How about you?"

Toby hadn't even realized that he'd been stress-sipping at his own beer throughout the entire horrible conversation, and realized that he, too, was empty. "Sure."

"Let's go." Caleb stood, expectantly waiting for his old friend to do the same. Toby glanced uncertainly at Hanna, as though silently begging her to let up on the waterboarding, to which she flashed a devilish smile in reply.

"Go ahead, boys," she sing-songed. "Spencer and I can get to know each other while you're gone."

That was exactly what he was afraid of. But before he could protest, Caleb had already clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder and started steering him in the direction of the counter. Once they were safely out of earshot, he leaned in closely, a look of excited impatience dancing onto his features.

"So? What do you think?"

Toby was admittedly not all there, glancing worriedly over his shoulder at the table they had abandoned. "About what?"

"Spencer!" Caleb insisted brightly, signaling to the bartender as they reached the counter. "She's pretty great, right?"

"Mmhmm," Toby mumbled noncommittally, delivering his best fake congratulatory smile. "Pretty great."

Caleb's chest swelled with pride as he leaned back against the bar, looking once more at his date. It was all Toby could do not to follow his gaze, for it was not within his right to stare the way that Caleb did, as much as every nerve ending in his body wanted him to.

"I'm sorry, by the way, for the intrusion. If you need us to say somewhere else, I understand. I just really wanted you to meet her, and she wanted to come back to see her brother."

"Brother?"

"Yeah. He lives about a half hour from here."

Toby mulled this over. Perhaps that had been why she was in the area in the first place, once upon a time. Either way, the realization that Caleb clearly knew more about her personal life than Toby ever had a chance to find out only served to confirm that he was foolish for being jealous.

"No, it's cool. You guys are welcome to stay." He did not meet Caleb's eyes as he said this, for fear of his friend detecting the hint of ambivalence that would surely show up in his expression.

This seemed satisfactory enough to Caleb, who clapped a thankful hand on Toby's shoulder in reply. He kind of wished Caleb would stop doing that – it was beginning to feel like the gesture of an older brother, one who had the annoying habit of affectionately reminding a younger sibling of who had the upper hand.

"Did I tell you how we met?"

_No. And I don't really want to know. _

"Not yet," he said, his voice rank with the appropriate level of feigned curiosity.

"I got called in to fix the network at her dad's office. Nothing too major, but complicated enough that the job took a couple of days. It was a problem with the Intranet firewall, pretty much the biggest liability for a secure server, and the files on the network were…"

He trailed off, taking note of the way Toby's eyes had glossed over. "Sorry. Tech talk. Anyway, I see this girl – beautiful, bright-eyed, full of life. Spent everyday of the job trying to find excuses to talk to her – even pretended there was something wrong with her computer just so I could be around her. Anyway, one thing led to another, and one day we end up on her desk – "

"Okay," Toby cut in brashly, immediately attempting to veil his discomfort with laughter. "Don't need _all_ the dirty details, bro."

Caleb's eyebrows knitted in slight, a look of amused confusion creeping into his features. "What do you mean? We've always talked about this stuff."

It was true, unfortunately. Though it was not necessarily commonplace for men to discuss their private lives in quite the same capacity that women did, Caleb and Toby had always been rather open about their dates. Perhaps it was the novelty of college life that had given them a newfound solace in swapping stories. Maybe it was because neither of them had ever really had a close guy friend before meeting the other, and didn't really give a damn about the socially-imposed boundaries that they were supposed to have. It could have even been a bit of friendly competition between two guys who had never really had reason to keep score before. In any case, Toby was quickly regretting having ever developed that degree of sharing.

He wasn't quite sure how to get out of it without being rude. So he forced a chuckle, clinked the neck of his new beer against Caleb's, and declared, "Save some of it for the bachelor party."

Oh, God. Had he really just gone there? The words had left his mouth before he had even thought them through. The tiny creature in his stomach lashed out in a fit of rage, and he suddenly felt ill once more.

"Nature calls," he mumbled pathetically, blowing the thin remains of his cover. He did not even glance back in Caleb's direction, too embarrassed by his own idiocy to let his friend's reaction further humiliate his weak attempts at playing it cool, bee-lining for the restroom in desperation to get some air.

He had hardly rounded the corner into the dark hallway – which, by the way, was ridden with the poison of déjà vu – when he collided with her, chest-to-chest, limbs haphazardly flailing from impact.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't looking where – " He paused instantaneously, the familiar dark eyes taking root, her identity quickly returning to his inebriated brain.

She seemed to be undergoing a similar sense of delayed reaction, taking a step back at once as though the proximity had burned her.

"Hey," he muttered stupidly.

"Hi."

There was an awkward silence that followed, in which neither of them were able to divert their curious eyes or formulate words on their tangled tongues. He could smell a waft of her perfume in the air, having been expended into a fragrant bubble around him in their collision. It brought back unwanted memories at once, an inappropriate fluttering commencing in his chest.

"Listen," she began uncertainly, looking down at her hands, which she was wringing together in an apparent effort to control her panic. "I want you to know that I had no idea – none whatsoever – "

"I know," he interrupted gently. Her eyes came back to meet his, quiet and forlorn in response to his kindness.

"You're not going to tell him. Are you?"

That was the million-dollar question, after all. The gnat that had been buzzing around his head all night. The pesky reminder that they shared a secret – one of which had the potential to hurt and humiliate Caleb if ever spoken of.

Which, even despite everything, was the very last thing Toby wanted to do.

"No," he breathed at last, his voice lilting into a sigh. "No, I won't tell him."

"Thank you," she said quietly. "I'm really sorry about…Well, everything."

'Everything' was a blanket term, of course. She could have been referring to anything under that very vague umbrella – most of which probably only comprised of more recent events.

Nevertheless, he wasn't sure he wanted her to elaborate.

"It's fine. And I'm – I'm sorry about Hanna. She can get a little…"

"Nasty?" Spencer supplied, an understanding smile dancing onto her mouth. Toby could not help but return the gesture. "It's okay. But I don't think I should stay at the apartment. It's weird for you, and Hanna has made it perfectly clear that I'm not welcome. I can just call my brother, and you and Caleb can have the week to hang out."

Part of him wanted to concede this. It probably was for the best if Spencer stayed somewhere far, far away. But the other part of him felt a dull ache at the idea of her walking away again – the notion that this interaction may be their last. And that somehow surpassed any level of logic and dignity that fought to overpower the drunken voice in his head.

"No. You should stay. We'd be happy to have you."

There was another pregnant pause, rife with words unspoken and an undeniable tension. He had wondered all night if he had imagined that magnetism last summer – if it had been more one-sided than he'd been willing to admit at the time. But no. It was somehow blatantly clear now, in this hallway – _their _hallway – that the resistance on the other end of the invisible tether that connected them was just as poignant as his own.

He was so transfixed by the look in her eyes – what appeared to be some degree of longing, or regret – that he hardly noticed the presence of the newcomer waltzing up behind them.

"Hey, baby! I've been looking for you!"

He knew the voice at once, but the words it uttered failed to compute. Before he could reconcile his confusion, Hanna had already clamped a grabby hand onto his ass, squeezing territorially as she leaned against him suggestively.

"Hanna, what – ?"

"Oh, Spencer. Sorry! Didn't see you there!"

Toby glanced back at the brunette, whose expression had darkened with – could it be? Was he imagining it? – a poorly concealed shadow of jealousy.

Before either of them could speak, Hanna was bleating once more.

"Sorry, Spence, I need to steal him away for a second, if you don't mind." She grabbed him roughly by the hand, her brute strength once more surprising him as she dragged him away, the wheels turning uselessly in his head with nowhere to go, like a mouse in a hamster wheel.

"What the hell are you doing, Hanna?" he growled, perplexed, once they had sufficiently left Spencer in the dust.

The blond turned to him, blue eyes sparkling wildly as a coquettish smirk tugged at one corner of her lips. "Improvising: I have an idea."


	4. Chapter 3

_**A/N: **I suck. Okay? I know that. I'm so sorry. I love all of you for your devoted patience. _

_Started a new story too! Please check it out. It's called "When The Night Changes." _

_IF YOU LOVE ME, YOU'LL REVIEW!_

_That is all._

* * *

><p><span><strong>CHAPTER 3<strong>

_An idea_, she said. _Improvisation_, she said. The mischief twinkling in her eyes and the Cheshire cat grin toying with her lips had bad news written all over it.

If there was one thing Toby had learned about Hanna in the time he had known her, it was that she was not the sort of person who was meant to have _ideas_.

It all began to click into place, a horrifying knot looping ceaselessly in his belly. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, he touched the area of his backside she had grabbed only moments ago.

"No," he breathed.

"Yes."

"_No_."

"Yes!" she cried, a little too enthusiastically, practically throwing herself against him and laughing. "Yes, Toby, yes!"

"Stop that!" he begged, the deliberate moan in her voice giving him the kind of mental images that nightmares were made of. He shuddered involuntarily.

"Does it make you uncomfortable?" she asked with feigned innocence, batting her eyelashes and folding her mouth into a pout.

He inhaled sharply, feeling the last of his patience ebbing away. "Hanna, I know what you're trying to do, and I appreciate it, really, but let's be realistic here – "

"Laugh," she muttered, the order so quiet he barely heard her over the music.

"What?"

"_Laugh_, ass hat. Like you mean it."

Before he could bother asking what the hell could possibly be funny about any of this, she was already giggling like a schoolgirl, swatting him playfully on the shoulder.

"You're _so_ funny, baby!"

She pinched him hard on the fleshy part of his elbow, nails imbedding themselves like talons. He hissed out loud in pain, but something told him that her tightening grasp was meant to deter him from making a scene. The faux smile plastered on her face made her look like a mad woman, her eyes widening in pointed command.

So he laughed. As stupid and phony as he felt, he did it. And after a moment he finally spotted what Hanna had seen long before him – Spencer eyeing them with morbid fascination from her spot at the bar.

"Not as funny as you, snookums," he cooed, though try as he might, he could not quite censor the mockery from his tone.

Hanna seemed to sense his noncommittal attitude, for she made a face resembling someone who had drank spoiled milk. "Snookums? Seriously?"

"It's the best I got."

"We've got a lot of work to do," she grumbled, having the audacity to sound impatient.

Her superiority complex only annoyed him more. What, was it _unheard _of to be bad at faking a relationship with your best friend? Was that not a _normal_ person's default setting? Yet here she was, eyeing him as though he had just shit his pants in front of the entire room. As if _he_ were the crazy one in this scenario.

"Fuck this," he muttered, moving to take his leave. He would just go track down Caleb, explaining that his head was hurting and he was done with their night out, and then he'd go home, put on something manly and testosterone-packed like _Die Hard_, and try to remember a time that his balls were still attached to him.

"Oh, no, you don't," Hanna declared, grabbing his hand and reeling him back in. And, as usual, he forgot how strong she could be when the occasion called for it. "You're not dumping me tonight. It's our three-month anniversary. I got you a really great watch, and you got me – well, I dunno, but I'm picturing something shiny, with lots of diamonds – "

"Hanna," he said exasperatedly. "Please tell me you know how stupid this is."

She shrugged, buffing her fingernails on the top hem of her blouse. "If you say so. I mean, yeah, a _terrible_ idea, right?"

The nonchalance in her voice may as well have come accompanied with a flashing neon sign. She was never one to give in so easily, especially when it meant admitting she had been wrong.

He heaved a weary sigh. "But?"

"Buuuut," she said, her voice a sing-song sort of tone. "Since launching my _stupid plan_, Spencer has not stopped staring at you."

He felt silly, like an infatuated teenage girl, the way his stomach did a little flip-flop of victory in his abdomen. "What, right now?" he whispered curiously, starting to turn.

"Don't look!" Hanna ordered, pulling his face back with both hands. She was wearing that ridiculously overbearing Vanna White smile once more, probably attempting to look halfway affectionate to their surprise eavesdropper. When she spoke, her words careened against her gritted teeth. "I _told_ you it was brilliant. Now shut the hell up, and follow my lead."

Before he could ask what precisely that entailed, she was already gripping his hand and dragging him in the direction of the bar. He followed her blindly, head spinning a million miles a minute with all of the possible trajectories of this ending very badly.

"I don't have to kiss you, do I?" he blurted, trying and failing miserably to suppress the visual.

"If you want me to throw up in your mouth. Hi, guys!"

She waved to them over a sea of heads as they neared. He saw now that Caleb had returned to Spencer's side, his nose pressed up against her hair in a way that made Toby feel suddenly very guilty for being so irritated with him. His friend truly did seem to care about her.

Toby was, and had been, a lot of things in his lifetime. An ass. A smartass. A dumbass. A jackass. Pretty much the entire "ass" family, really. But he had never – not once – been a bad friend.

The guilt pressed down on him, like a rhinoceros sitting on his chest.

Upon hearing Hanna's enthusiastic hello, both Spencer and Caleb turned in their direction. Toby's original roommate cocked a curious eyebrow as his gaze fell to the newcomers' clasped hands.

"Wait, did I miss something?" he chuckled, reaching over to slug Toby playfully on the shoulder. "I _asked_ you if you two were banging! Remember? I didn't want to stay at the apartment and intrude if – "

"We're totally banging," Hanna interrupted brashly, then followed it up with a flirtatious giggle to make up for her zealous outburst. "I mean, we weren't, then we were, but we were keeping our relationship a secret for a while. Because of Antonio. Right, baby?"

"Sure," Toby said cautiously. "Antonio."

Toby would be lying if he claimed to feel no satisfaction in the way Spencer had sagged against the bar, eyes trained to the other side of the room, as though something far more interesting were happening somewhere else. Caleb, however, seemed genuinely intrigued. "Who's Antonio?"

"My ex-boyfriend," Hanna said with a dejected sigh. It sounded borderline legitimate. "He was from Spain. A bullfighter, actually. Not long after we broke up, he found out I was seeing Toby. He went mad with jealousy. Called me everyday to tell me how much he missed me, and what a _wonderful_ girlfriend I was."

Jesus, talk about laying it on thick.

"Well, anyway, one day he just showed up at the apartment and beat the shit out of Toby." Her mouth melted into a pout as she caressed her fake boyfriend's cheek in what he suspected was intended to be adoration, pausing to none-too-gently pat his face several times. "Poor thing tried to fight back, but Antonio was _very_ strong. I've never seen someone cry like Toby did that day! He was just in _so much_ pain. Couldn't stop sobbing – "

"That's not _exactly_ how it happened," Toby cut in, laughing uncomfortably and squeezing Hanna's hand – hard. When she tried to wrench it out of his grasp, he only increased the volatility of his death grip. "Hanna's actually mixing up a few things in the story. See, it was _me_ who kicked _Antonio's_ ass, and _he_ was the one that cried."

She narrowed her eyes in his direction. "Actually, _baby_, it was – "

"He was a _bullfighter_?" Caleb demanded, his jaw slack with awe. Naturally, _that_ would be the one thing he'd take away from the story. Probably for the best. "That's so badass."

"Yeah," Hanna said, drawing out another sigh. "He was the most masculine guy I'd ever dated."

Oh, hell no. Did she really think he was going to let her embarrass him with stories that weren't even true? If she thought she was getting away with it, she had another thing coming.

"Yeah, and then there was Theresa," he started, unsure of where exactly he could take it that would be sufficient to reverse the damage she had done. "She was _my_ ex. She had the most perfect body I had ever seen, and she was the _best_ at giving – "

"Enough about exes," Hanna chuckled, a warning flashing in the depths of her sapphire eyes. He had successfully ruffled her. "We have each other now. And we're _very_ happy."

"Yep. Very happy."

"Good!" Caleb said cheerfully, clapping Toby on the shoulder in a congratulatory manner. "I'm so happy for you guys! Shots are on me!"

The next hour or so went by without incident, and Toby was startled to find that toting around a fake girlfriend did wonders for his self-esteem. All it took was a hand squeeze here and a pet name there to incite some sort of fiery beast within Spencer, for her chestnut eyes had been practically glued to his face the entire time. He felt a bit guilty for not really _feeling guilty_, because the way she was staring daggers at him was just so goddamn satisfying that he could have danced a fucking jig.

Maybe Hanna was on the right track, after all. Not that he would admit it to her.

A slow song came on through the chintzy little iPod dock, and Caleb released a triumphant hum.

"Boyz II Men. That's how I like my old school." He turned to Spencer, who seemed to be shaken from some kind of daze upon feeling his eyes on her. "You wanna dance, babe?"

She smiled apologetically. "No, I'm okay. You can if you want, though."

Caleb looked to Toby expectantly. It took Toby an embarrassing amount of time to realize that it was not, in fact, an invitation to cut a rug man-love style, but a request for permission.

To dance with Hanna.

She dug her heel against his ankle under the table. Obviously_ she_ had caught on.

"Yeah," he sputtered, partially in surprise and partially due to the pain of his best friend's stiletto impaling his Achilles tendon. "Yeah, you guys go ahead."

"Great!" Hanna chirped, already on her feet. She practically dragged Caleb from his seat. She called over her shoulder as they departed. "Thanks, sweetie. Love you!"

"Yeah, I'll _bet_ you do," he muttered through a tight smile, waving them off.

It didn't occur to him just what kind of situation they'd be leaving him in until his eyes fell back to her. Oh. Oh, no.

"Hanna's…nice," Spencer said with a considerable amount of effort, offering a polite smile and taking a sip from her wine.

"You don't have to lie," Toby said. "You think she's a bitch."

Spencer coughed into her glass, then turned a very attractive shade of scarlet as she wiped her mouth. "No – I mean – she's great – she's just…um…really, _really_ impassioned about her convictions."

"Yeah. So basically, you're saying she's a bitch."

She looked at him wide-eyed, and he could not contain himself any longer. He broke a smile, laughing good-naturedly at the panic in her eyes. Her face fluttered through a multitude of expressions in a very short amount of time, from embarrassment, to confusion, to understanding, and finally to amusement. Her lips curved upward, revealing a perfect row of dazzling white teeth.

"You're messing with me."

"Of course I'm messing with you," he said, leaning back in his seat and smirking. "No offense, but you make it kind of easy."

She batted at his arm from across the table. "I do not."

He scrunched his face up, as though in deep concentration. "Mmm, maybe a little."

The laugh that blossomed from her mouth was impossibly symphonic, and he felt her mirth all the way to the tips of his toes. She tossed a balled-up napkin at him, hitting him square in the face. It only made her laugh harder, and before he knew it, he was following suit.

It felt nice to laugh with her. Like they shared some sort of secret joke that nobody else could grasp.

She trailed off, her gaze traveling to the dance floor. Her hazel eyes caught the glint of the light, and he felt his breath catch. The new high gave him a false sense of confidence, and he was blurting it out before he even realized the damage he was about to inflict.

"Do you love Caleb?"

Spencer turned back to him, her smile faltering as she registered his words. She did a onceover of him, as if to determine what primitive hormonal region the inquiry had sprung from.

"It's really none of your business."

"He's my friend," he countered pathetically, knowing full well that his rationale was more shade than authenticity. "I'm looking out for him."

Evidently she saw past his shield of alleged chivalry, scoffing and rolling her eyes. "I'm sure."

"Then answer the question."

There. There it was. The ultimatum, out on the table, so asphyxiating it made the elephant in the room look like a throw pillow. It grew more pronounced with every passing moment that she did not speak, darkening all else that was going on around them.

And then, he looked into her eyes. Really, truly looked into them, unblinking, presenting her with a silent challenge. And she merely stared back at him, looking as though she wanted to say something, but could not force herself to do so.

"Hey!" Hanna said briskly, sliding into the seat with such vigor that she bumped right up against him.

"What did we miss?" Caleb chimed in, draping an arm over Spencer's shoulder.

There was another moment of awkward silence, so poignant that Toby could have sworn she was about to confess everything.

But then, she pasted a smile on her face, turning to her boyfriend and kissing him full on the mouth. Hanna's hand shot out to squeeze Toby's knee, not as part of their game but rather a gesture of comfort. It was enough to keep him grounded, from saying or doing something he would regret.

And then finally, they broke apart. Caleb looked pleasantly surprised, knitting his brow.

"What was that for?" he asked.

"Because I adore you," she smiled, pecking him on the cheek and glancing briefly in Toby's direction. It was fleeting, but that split second was enough for him to gather all of the information he needed.

It was a look of victory. She thought she had won. She knew exactly what she was doing, and she did it on purpose, just to spite him.

But what she didn't realize is that she had showed her hand with one large, glaring mistake.

She had said she 'adored' him. She never said 'love.'

He grinned. He could not help himself. He had a leg up and she didn't even know it. She narrowed her eyes in self-conscious confusion, only for a moment, but he saw it clear as day.

Oh, boy, did he see it.

He waved down a server as she passed, calling her over to the table.

"I think my friends need another shot," he said, his voice rank with bravado. He slipped a fifty-dollar bill in her hand. "And keep the change. It's a good day."


End file.
